


For Knights to Come

by josiepug



Series: Catelyn Tarth [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, Gen, Post - A Dance With Dragons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-08-07
Packaged: 2018-02-10 01:35:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2006007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/josiepug/pseuds/josiepug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Catelyn Tarth's parents are the best sword fighters in the world, but no one will ever teach her. She does her best to fix this problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This one isn't angsty! That's a first for me. This was a ton of fun to write, trying to figure out which Jaime and Brienne traits would get passed on to their daughter. Hope you like my choices :)

Catelyn Tarth was awoken by the clashing of swords in the practice yard. The sound was music to her young ears and she was out of bed and at the window before she was even fully awake. Watching the knights and squires train in the yard was her favorite thing to do on the whole island. She only wished she was old enough to fight herself. Unfortunately, everyone said that she was too small. Which didn’t make sense because everyone also said that she was very tall for her age. It was all very confusing. At least no one told her that she couldn’t watch the fighting. Cat drew back the shades and peered down into the yard.

It was immediately apparent who was sparring. No one else on Tarth moved like they did, like their weapons were a seamless extension of their bodies. It hardly looked like fighting, the swords in their hands swooping and blurring with animal grace. From Cat’s vantage point, it looked more like an elaborate, deadly dance, each anticipating the other’s moves before they made them. Cat smiled. They fought like knights out of fairytales. And they were _her_ parents. 

She settled down on the windowsill to watch the fight. As soon as she heard the swords, she had been hoping it would be them. This was when everything was perfect. Cat had only just passed her sixth name day, and she didn’t know much about the world, but she knew that things were only perfect in songs. And when her parents’ swords met in the yard, life became a song.

It wasn’t like that all of the time. Only a few weeks ago, Mikken the stableboy had called her a bastard when she was feeding her pony. He had said that she wasn’t really an heir at all, and just because the Dragon Queen said her name was Tarth didn’t make it so. Cat thought that was probably treason and the queen could have his head for that, but she had kicked him in between the legs just in case Daenerys didn’t hear about it. The groom had seen her do it though, and that little stunt had earned her an entire day in her chambers under the watchful eye of Maester Carlyle. That part was _awful_. 

Speaking of the man, the maester had just arrived in the practice yard. Cat’s parents stopped training immediately as Maester Carlyle spoke to Mother in a hushed voice. Tarth must have needed its Lady for some reason, because she began tugging off her armor while the maester was still speaking. Father’s silver-gold hair shone in the sunlight as he kissed Mother on the cheek and moved off, presumably to begin teaching the squires their morning lessons. Cat felt a pang of jealousy. Both her parents had promised to teach her how to fight eventually, but she wanted to learn _now._

Sighing, Cat turned away from the window, the excitement over for the moment. It was more out of boredom than anything that she picked up the looking glass next to her bed. The septa on Tarth had told her that she must learn how to do her hair like a little lady. “You’re a pretty girl, not like your mother. You should learn to show it off,” Septa Alayna had said. Cat didn’t understand what was wrong with how her mother looked though, and the septa had mysteriously disappeared a few days later, never to be seen again. Septa Alayna had been mean. Cat knew she didn’t look exactly like her mother, but she had the same freckles and eyes, and that made her happy. She couldn’t understand why the septa would want her to look less like the legendary Brienne of Tarth. Besides, what was wrong with just tying her hair back? Her golden curls were far too much work otherwise, and real knights never had fancy hairstyles. When she was a knight, she would be fighting bad guys too much to worry about her hair.

She put the looking glass back down and went back to the window. Mother had left the yard, and now there were only boys and young men being taught by her father. None of them fought nearly as well as Mother did. Cat was about to turn away again, thinking about going for a swim in the bay, when something caught her eye. _Could it be?_

_Yes._ Her mother had left the practice yard in a hurry and had forgotten to do one thing. Usually, after she sheathed her practice sword, she would hang it up on the highest hook. But today, she had hung it on one of the low ones. Cat saw her chance, and she wasn’t prepared to let it pass her by.

Almost squealing with glee, the heir to Tarth hurriedly found a pair of soft, flexible breeches and a shirt before rushing out of the room. She had to rush back in to get her shoes, but a second later she was off once more, hoping that her mother wouldn’t realize her mistake and move the sword before Cat got down there.

Glad for her long legs, Cat careened down the stairs, running so fast that she bumped into her friend Josmyn on the way down. “Sorry, Jos!” she called over her shoulder, but she didn’t stop. Jos’ parents hadn’t been married when he was born either, but since his father died in the war no one talked about it much. His mother, Pia, who always spoke with a hand covering her mouth, would start crying if anyone said anything about it. Cat’s father said that Pia’s life had been hard, and she had every right to cry. Cat thought crying was stupid.

She was out of breath by the time she reached the yard, but she knew that she had to be absolutely silent if she were to pass through the yard unnoticed. Luckily, everyone was focused on training and she made it to the rack of practice swords without incident. 

There it was.

Brienne of Tarth’s practice sword was hanging on a lower peg than ever before, within reach, though Cat still had to stretch to grasp the handle. 

It was very heavy. So heavy, in fact, that Cat almost cried aloud when she got it off the hook and fell back into the dust. She managed to control it though, and soon she was pulling the sheathed weapon around the back of the little building, hoping to practice out of sight of the older children. 

Sweat was clinging to her face by the time it was finally safe to unsheathe the sword. Cat was very careful not to touch the blade as she did so, even though it was dulled. Countless warnings about the dangers of swords ringing through her head.

The weapon was beautiful. Cat loved how the silver shimmered in the sunlight, making the metal appeared to dance. She felt a rush of adrenaline as she lifted the blade to the sky. It took her two hands, and nearly unbalanced her in the process, but everything about it felt absolutely right.

She gave it a swing. The swift swoosh of the blade through the air was musical, and even though her arms were beginning to hurt, she swung again. And again. And again.

Cat imagined there was an enemy before her, one of the Others who had nearly ended the world before she was born. And in her mind she was a knight, a warrior loved and feared throughout the land. Honorable and true, she was protecting the realms of men. _Swish. Slash. Swish._

“Oi! Cat! What do you think you’re doing with that? You’re just a little girl. You’re not allowed.”

It was Mikken again. Cat frowned, pursing her lips together. Someone had surely heard the loud mouthed stableboy, and now she was going to get in trouble.

“Go away, Mikken! It’s none of your business what I do. Go back and muck out your stupid horses. I’m going to be a knight.” She slashed her mother’s sword at the air in front of him, but before she could doing anything more, footsteps were pounding across the yard, and the sword was being lifted from her hands.

“Mikken, leave us.” It was her father’s left hand which now held the sword, its tip glinting dangerously in the light. Mikken ran off without another word, always meek before the adults.

Jaime Lannister knelt down to look into his daughter’s eyes, and Cat noticed that he looked pale and a little shaken. His voice was low with anger. “Catelyn Tarth, what were you doing with your mother’s practice sword?” She opened her mouth to respond but he cut her off.

“No, don’t answer that. I know what you were doing. But you _mustn’t_ , Kitten,” Kitten was her father’s nickname for her. He said it was because she wasn’t big enough to be a Cat yet. “You’re too little and you don’t know how to use a sword. You could have hurt someone today. Swords are not toys. They are weapons, and not for little girls to play around with. Do you understand me? You’re lucky it wasn’t your mother who caught you. She may just have used that sword on you.”

Cat gasped. “She _wouldn’t_.” Her father ruffled her hair with the stump of his right hand.

“No, she wouldn’t, but that doesn’t mean she won’t be very angry when I tell her what happened.” Cat’s heart sank. Of course Lady Tarth would find out. “Now run back to your room, Kitten. I have some squires to pound into the ground. We will all discuss this later.”

The dismissal was clear, and Cat returned to her chambers, not nearly as quickly as she had left them. She was beginning to feel guilty for what she had done. Father was right, someone could have gotten hurt. That didn’t mean she wanted her mother to find out, though. 

She lay down on the bed in her room, suddenly struck by a horrible thought. _What if they never let me learn how to fight now?_ Then she would never become a knight, and she’d have to learn how to make her hair fancy.

Catelyn Tarth cried into her pillow, even though crying was for babies. If she wasn’t going to be a knight, she might as well be a baby. 

Hours passed that day without her moving. She didn’t think she’d ever stayed still this long in her entire life, but she was too afraid to move. Any moment now her parents were going to come in and tell her that she could never learn how to fight. 

She passed most of the afternoon laying despondently on the bed, but as the sun began to lower in the sky, Cat’s boredom overcame her worry. She decided to go give her pony a treat. There was no way she could get in trouble for that, and Jonquil loved carrots. 

The stable was dim and quiet, the snuffling of horses the only sound she could hear. Thankfully Mikken was not present, and she could say hello to Jonquil in peace. Her pony was small, dappled and very friendly. She especially liked to find any stray bits of hair on Cat’s head and try to eat them.

Cat was laughing, trying to get her head away from Jonquil’s curious mouth when she heard voices that she recognized coming from the other end of the stable. It was her parents. And they were arguing.

Thinking quickly, Cat hopped behind a sack of oats and sank down out of sight. The voices were getting louder. Cat didn’t dare look, but they had to be in the row in which she was hiding.

“She’s far too young for fighting. The world has enough bloodshed in it without little children being so eager to learn how to kill people.” Cat could hear the anxiety in her mother’s voice. Her father just sounded resigned.

“Brienne, she needs to know what she’s doing, and you won’t be able to hide that sword out of reach when she’s as tall as bloody Gregor Clegane.” Who’s Clegane? “We need to teach her to fight. She won’t give up just because you tell her she’s not allowed. Did I ever tell you that I used to jump of the cliffs at the Rock when I was a child?”

Her mother must have shaken her head because Father continued a moment later.

“Well I did, all the time, until Cersei told on me. I was yelled at and banned from ever jumping off those cliffs again. And do you know what I did? I started jumping off of them at night. Easily a hundred times more dangerous. Cat will find a way to get her hands on a sword no matter what we say or do, and I think we have enough cripples in the family to be going on with.”

Cat could hear her mother scuffling her feet, thinking. “I know, Jaime, but she’s not ready. She’s not old enough.”

Father’s voice was bitter. “None of us were, Brienne. The realm may be at peace now, but when the time comes, she deserves to believe that her sword will be enough.”

Mother didn’t respond for a long time, but when she did, her words made Cat’s heart leap with joy. “Fine. She begins training on the morrow. We can discuss the details at supper.” Their voices began to fade again as they headed back towards the castle. Cat waited until Jonquil’s breathing was the only sound once more before running back to her room, taking the steps two at a time in her excitement.

Cat spent the entire wait for supper schooling her face not to give away how excited she was. She thought she did a good job walking slowly down to supper and looking contrite when her mother scolded her about her behavior, despite how much she wanted to jump and scream with joy. It wasn’t helping that her father kept smiling into his napkin on the other side of the table. Her mother spoke quietly to her about her duty and how she couldn’t just go about swinging swords whenever she felt like it. Cat endured the lecture gamely, waiting for the punchline.

“Tomorrow you will begin to learn the sword properly.” Hearing the words from her mother’s mouth was better than she imagined. Cat thought her grin might split her face in two, and she jumped out of her seat immediately, flinging herself onto her mother. She hugged her tightly, drinking in her familiar, earthy smell. Despite her sternness a moment earlier, her mother was chuckling softly at her daughter’s unbridled enthusiasm. Her father was laughing too, and Cat realized that most of the table was staring at them.

She didn’t care. _Someday, I’m going to be a knight._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cat begins to realize her dreams and makes a friend. It's not as easy as it sounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm following book canon for this series except I'm stealing Jaime's dyslexia from the show because I like it and no one told me I couldn't.

Cat couldn’t find her left shoe. Frustrated, she set about the process of tearing her room apart to retrieve it. There was no time for this nonsense. She had to be getting down to the practice yard. _I’m going to learn how to be a knight_. The thought made her search all the more vigorously, excitement warring with annoyance in her mind.

The shoe was lodged so far under her bed that she had to crawl down there to get it. She arose covered from head to toe in dust, but she really couldn’t be bothered to change again. At this rate, she was going to be late for her first ever sword fighting lesson, and that was unacceptable. Cat took the stairs down to the yard two at a time, not unlike her all out sprint the day before. _Except this time it’s all for real._

By the time she arrived, the practice yard was already filling up with squires and young knights honing their skills. Her father was busy correcting the stance of a burly youth in dented armor, but her mother turned at Cat’s arrival.

“Did you try your hand at killing dust bunnies for a warm-up?” Cat blushed even though her mother’s tone was warm.

“Sorry, Mother. I, uh, couldn’t find my shoe.” Brienne of Tarth laughed, causing Cat’s father to look over and promptly get smacked with a blunted sword. He didn’t seem to feel the blow, telling the squire to find someone else to train with before joining them at the edge of the yard.

Cat’s mother raised her eyebrows at him as he approached. “Impressively focused this morning, aren’t you?” Her father only smirked, turning to address their daughter.

“Has your mother taught you anything yet, or have the two of you just sat around collecting dust?” He also gave Cat’s rumpled appearance a thorough once-over.

Her mother didn’t bother to answer him. Instead, she too turned to Cat, and drew something out from behind her back. 

It was a wooden sword.

Cat tried not to let the disappointment show on her face. Everyone started with a wooden sword. She knew that, but she couldn’t help feeling a little cheated as steel flashed across the rest of the yard. And not only was it made of wood, but it was much smaller than a real sword. In the Lady of Tarth’s big strong hands it looked to be hardly more than a dagger.

Despite her efforts, her mother must have been able to read her expression because she put one of those huge hands on Cat’s skinny shoulder. “Every swordsman learns on wood first. Here, give it a try. Feel the balance of the blade. Wooden swords have more advantages than just safety. Wood will make you strong and force you to do all the work. Quality metal swords will help you more, but in battle, you may end up with a broken hedge knight’s sword, and you better to know how to use it.” Cat immediately felt better, her chest swelling slightly at how serious her mother sounded. _This is it. I’m really learning how to be a knight._

“Yes, Mother. I’ll be sure to remember that. Now can we start?” Her father chuckled, but Cat thought her mother’s smile looked a little sad.

“Alright then.” Her mother’s voice became formal. “Catelyn, heir to House Tarth, draw your weapon.” The sword was surprisingly heavy as Cat drew it up to chest level, doing her best to copy all the sword-fighting sessions she had seen. With both her parents watching, she suddenly felt very small and unprepared. There was no trace of the confidence that she had found during her stolen session with a real sword. All of a sudden, she was niggled by doubt. _Maybe I’m not ready._

Her father didn’t give her the time to dwell on her fear. While her mother had been speaking, he had swapped his sword for a wooden one and now took her place in front of Cat.

“One!” he shouted and before she could so much as react, he had landed a surprisingly light tap on her right shoulder. “Two!” And he was at her left shoulder. “Three?” Right hip. By four Cat had at least managed to move her blade, but she wasn’t even close to blocking him. Somehow her father made even wood sing in his hands. 

“Five!” And her father’s sword was resting on the top of her head. Cat could see her mother frowning a little ways away, but she did nothing to intervene. Father removed the blade from her head, and took a step back. “That was the five-point drill. Shoulder, hip, head. Right to left. Quite simple, but important. Once you’ve mastered the steps, I’ll start to shout the numbers in different orders. Once you can block every one of those blows, I’ll stop speaking, and you’ll have to read my body language. Let’s do it again. Ready?”

It was a lot to take it. Her father’s blade moved faster than she could follow, and yet she could tell he wasn’t even really trying. And the sword was _heavy._ Every time she raised her blade, it seemed to have gained weight. Cat desperately wanted to use her second hand to steady the blade, but she knew from countless hours of watching that this was a one-handed blade, and a two-handed grip was simply not allowed. 

After a while, her mother took over while her father went to oversee his other charges. Cat was proud to realize that she could already begin to tell how her parents fought differently. When they sparred with each other, it had always seemed like a seamless dance, but now Cat could see some difference. Her mother attacked less willingly than her father, even during a drill for that purpose, but her moves were also harder to anticipate. Soon, Cat was gasping for breath and her hair was pulling free of its hastily tied knot. She couldn’t feel her fingers at all and she knew her sides would be a mess of bruises from every stroke she had failed to block. 

Finally, her mother called a stop, and Cat lowered her blade, breathing hard. “Excellent, Cat. I look forward to seeing you here tomorrow morning.” But she softened the formality of her words by running her fingers through Cat’s sweaty hair, fixing her ponytail as she did so. Cat was about to turn back to the main castle, thinking of doing some relaxed swimming in the bay when her father returned. He went straight over to her lady mother.

“Um, Brienne. Can I keep Kitten a little longer? I have an idea.” Something was different about him, but it took Cat a moment to figure out what it was. He looked just like he always did to her, silver blond hair mussed from training and green eyes sparkling, but something was definitely off. 

_He sounds shy._

That was it. Cat had never heard her father use that tone of voice before. Evidently, her mother found it strange too, because she was scowling again. “What is it, Jaime?” 

His tone of voice didn’t change, though he had started to smile slightly. “Kitten, will you switch hands?”

Now she was really confused. Cat moved her sword to her left hand, feeling the balance change. Even though she’d only had a sword in her hand for a single morning, the change already felt wrong. “What do you want me to do?” She still didn’t know what was going on though her mother’s eyes had widened in comprehension.

Her father’s eyes met her mother’s and when he looked back, he seemed more confident. “Same thing. Block my attack.” And they were off again, Cat struggling to get her sword to the proper place, hardly ever meeting blades with her father. Several times she didn’t even block to the right side, her sense of space completely thrown off. 

She didn’t know how long they practiced like this. Fighting changed the flow of time. Hours could pass in seconds while each drill lasted an eternity. By the time her father called a halt, the blade felt marginally less foreign in her left hand. 

Cat shook out her hand, feeling needles spark up her fingertips. “That felt so weird,” she gasped, still out of breath and more tired than she thought possible.

Her father smiled wryly. “I know.”

 

Weeks passed. Cat woke up almost every day with stiff limbs. Her parents tried not to push her young body too hard, but she would never stop a workout early. Her arms and legs were still skinny little sticks no matter what she did. She often looked at her mother’s big strong arms and broad shoulders with envy. The Lady of Tarth could handle Cat’s sword like a toy while her daughter strained every day under its weight. It frustrated Cat to no end even though Maester Carlyle claimed that she was already the tallest and strongest child of her age that he had ever seen. It was little consolation as she toiled endlessly in the yard, her blows slower and more fragile than even the weakest boys. It didn’t matter that she was the youngest. Catelyn Tarth wanted to win.

_Left. Right. Block. Parry. Dodge. Attack. Right. Left._ Her opponent of the day was Edd, a tall, gangly boy of nine who was very fast but who tripped up his footwork. Even lead-footed, he could still beat her soundly. Cat bit her lip in frustration as she struggled to keep up. A part of her thought that she really was too young to learn to fight, but she couldn’t give that part a voice. _Block. Attack. Step sideways. Feint. Attack._ In a flash, Edd’s foot caught in the dirt and he stumbled. It was the first time Cat had gotten an opportunity in the week since she’d started practicing with the youngest boys. She couldn’t let it pass.

The sword sang through the morning air as she closed in, her mind full and empty all at once. Somehow she was maintaining straight footwork, leveling her elbow and presenting a small target all while listening to her slowly growing muscles hum in pain and pleasure, reaching that ecstatic point where she was beyond the hurt and nothing could stop her.

The boy’s practice sword flew out of his hand, and before she knew it, Cat had her sword at his throat. She stayed that way for a moment, savoring her victory. 

“Excellent, Cat. Now you have to learn to do that with your left hand.” Her mother’s voice was coming from directly behind her. She dropped the sword for a moment’s rest, basking in the pride in her mother’s voice. It felt good to win. Soon, it wouldn’t just be Edd she could force to yield. It didn’t even bother her too much that she’d have to do it all over again with her other hand.

An hour later, Cat put away her little wooden sword with the utmost care. Even though it was small and stupid, she had become attached to its feel in her hand. She had stopped asking when she could get a real sword a little while ago. _I have to be ready before I can be a true knight._

It took her longer than was necessary to put away her blade, and Cat dawdled on her way up to Maester Carlyle’s study. Along with the fighting lessons had come reading lessons, and those were _awful._ As hard as the sword work was, it was never nearly as confusing. 

And when she trained no one looked at her with pity.

Maester Carlyle was pretty nice, but that didn’t stop his eyes from darkening when he thought that Cat wasn’t looking. She knew it was taking her a while to learn her letters, but there was nothing she could do about that. _It’s not my fault they mix themselves around,_ she thought bitterly. The maester sat patiently with her for hours, but it never seemed to matter what he told her. The stupid things just wouldn’t stick right in her mind. 

Unwilling to go inside and frustrated at her own incompetence, Cat struck the side of the castle with a small, booted foot. It hurt immensely. Trying not to let tears fall from her eyes, she hopped around, saying words in her head that would get her in trouble if she said them out loud.

“Meow.” The sound was plaintive and so small that Cat would never have noticed it over her own footsteps. “Meow.” It was coming from somewhere to her left. Cat turned, looking for the source of the noise. _Probably just a kitchen cat gotten loose,_ she told herself. But somehow she didn’t believe it. She continued her search, scanning the base of the castle wall, her painful toes forgotten.

The kitten was as white as stories of snow. It was perched precariously on the edge of a bucket that one the maids had left out, and it was watching Cat, its blue eyes piercing.

“Hello there. Who are you?” She crept towards the kitten as quietly as she could, but it did not seem to be afraid. In fact, by the time she was close enough to reach out and touch it, it seemed to have decided it quite liked her. With one final meow, the little creature leapt up onto her shoulder.

Cat giggled. “Now what do you think you’re doing? I didn’t invite you up here.” Not that that made her put the kitten down, of course. “Guess Father can’t call me Kitten anymore. I’ll have to be a big cat and you can be my kitten. How does that sound?” The kitten didn’t answer, so she pulled a piece of hair out of her knot to dangle in front of it. The animal batted at it a few times, but then grew bored, deciding instead to leap even higher onto Cat’s head. Untangling kitten claws from her hair, she sat down on the ground, the reading lesson completely forgotten with the prospect of a new friend. 

“I see you’ve found a distraction to keep you from your lessons.” Her father was looking down at her, sprawled in the dirt with a kitten in her hair. He didn’t seem angry. In fact, the corners of his mouth were drawing up into a smile. Still, Cat felt the need to justify herself.

“I just found him here, Father. And he looked so little and alone so I had to play with him, and then he kept jumping onto me and I guess I forgot about my lessons. Sorry.” Her father chuckled, grin widening. 

“I sense we may have just added another member to our household.” He gave the little cat an appraising look, then frowned slightly. “We already have one Kitten. So what are you going to call this one?”

Cat thought about that for a moment, but then the answer came to her, as clear as day. “He keeps trying to jump all over me, so I guess I’ll have to call him Pounce.”

Cat thought it was a good name, but her father’s face went suddenly white. His eyes were wide, and for some reason, Cat thought he looked a little scared. But that was impossible. What did her father have to fear?

As soon as she thought that he might stand frozen forever, he knelt down beside her, running a hand through her golden curls.

“Pounce. Well I guess that’s…appropriate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next installment will be from Tyrion's perspective as Jaime, Brienne and Cat head to King's Landing. On another note, the five point drill is used in stage combat, though I'm not sure that it has a name. I figured I might as well use it for real combat as well. Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Next up Jaime and Brienne teach Cat to fight. And she gets a pet. It will still be from Cat's perspective.


End file.
